Find a collection of Poems About Spirituality that will soothe your soul. It will remind you of life and the hereafter. Maybe you are worried and want to find peace. Spiritual poems are a great source of peace.
Table of Contents
Thy Choice – Which?
Poet: John F. Zurn, © 2014
The power of love is never contrived
Nor is it some specialized talent.
It doesn’t create a comfortable life
Nor is it some secretive magic.
This wondrous power can never be caught
Nor can it be pictured in nature.
It has no address but never gets lost
And knows every subtle direction.
Sometimes this wondrous grace appears
Like mist overwhelming a mountain.
Yet when it’s gone the proof is so clear
That only a cynic would doubt it.
I can’t apprehend how God answers prayer.
But once I was lost and now I am here.
I Feel So Lonely
I Am Free
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2009
Can love see us through the hard times
When our world has been torn apart?
Can we experience strength once again?
Can we look for a brand-new start?
How does one pick up the pieces of life,
That have crashed down with one blow?
What are the answers to life’s questions that form?
What is life’s pattern, how does one know?
Is this the route that I have to take?
Is this really the only road?
Must I travel this journey of pain?
Why must I carry this load?
What is to benefit? Who is to gain?
Will this show an expression of grace?
Will others see the nurturing of Christ
And recognize this is God’s place?
This is appointed for me at this time,
It’s God’s commission to me;
I am expected to follow His will,
Whatever the outcome might be.
If I am willing to follow His plan
And patiently let Him direct,
I need not fear what the future brings forth –
My love He will never reject.
If every step is led by His hand,
Then His grace is sufficient for me,
Whatever the outcome this trial may bring,
My soul is at peace; I am free.
The Lights Of Days Gone By
Poet: Alice Cary
Some comfort when all else is night,
About his fortune plays,
Who sets his dark to-days in the light
Of the sunnier yesterdays.
In memory of joy that’s been
Something of joy is, still;
Where no dew is, we may dabble in
A dream of the dew at will.
All with the dusty city’s throng
Walled round, I mused to-day
Of flowery sheets lying white along
The pleasant grass of the way.
Under the hedge by the brawling brook
I heard the woodpecker’s tap,
And the drunken trills of the blackbirds shook
The sassafras leaves in my lap.
I thought of the rainy morning air
Dropping down through the pine,
Of furrows fresh from the shining share,
And smelling sweeter than wine.
Of the soft, thick moss, and how it grew
With silver beads impearled,
In the well that we used to think ran through
To the other side of the world.
I thought of the old barn set about
With its stacks of sweet, dry hay;
Of the swallows flying in and out
Through the gables, steep and gray;
Thought of the golden hum of the bees,
Of the cocks with their heads so high.
Making it morn in the tops of the trees
Before it was morn in the sky.
And of the home, of the dear old home,
With its brown, and rose-bound wall,
Where we fancied death could never come-
I thought of it more than of all.
Each childish play-ground memory claims,
Telling me here, and thus,
We called to the echoes by their names,
Till we made them answer us.
Thank God, when other power decays,
And other pleasures die,
We still may set our dark to-days
In the light of days gone by.
The Tower of Babel
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2009
The tower of Babel was man’s attempt to reach God’s heavenly home –
They built their mighty structure to go where seraphs roam.
Their man-made plans were well thought out, the blueprints without flaw,
And all who saw the tower progress stood back and watched in awe.
For hitherto this marvelous feat had only been a dream,
That one might reach the realms of God, Oh! What could all this mean?
Why, they might have the power to view the things that lie ahead,
And plan the outcome on their own, not needing to be led.
God would not need to interfere, nor need to be their Guide;
Their self-sufficient attitude would set those needs aside.
But God was not impressed when man decided his own fate,
So He stepped in and quelled their plans before it was too late.
He muddled every language, confused their very speech,
Their power of understanding was far beyond their reach.
Before long they were scattered, they were misunderstood,
Their words were now a babble, the building left for good.
Let this be a reminder: God still holds the reigns,
He rules o’er every aspect and sovereignty remains.
Man tries to overrule Him, man wants to have control,
But like the tower of Babel, no one can change God’s goal.
Jesus Said, “I’m Not Coming”
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2008
Jesus said, “I’m not coming to fulfill the dreams in your life,
I’m not here to appease you, to settle your wars and your strife.
I’m not here to surround you with wealth or glory or fame,
I’m here to call you to judgment, to make you face up to your shame.
I know you feel quite self-righteous, yet I cringe at the things that you do,
You disregard God’s commandments; your thoughts are only of you.
I’ve given you more than you needed, I’ve responded to each beck and call;
I’ve heard your complaints and your comments, your discontent with it all.
I’ve tried to show you compassion, directing you on the right road;
I’ve tried to be your companion; I’ve offered to carry your load.
But pride has made you quite haughty, you snub the offers I make;
When all I want is to love you, to tell you I died for your sake.
What is it that makes you resist Me? What pleasures in life holds your soul?
Who is directing your future? Who has your life in control?
The door to salvation stands open; the call to repentance is clear;
This offer will not last forever, beware! The end times are drawing near.”
You’ve heard, you’re aware of the message, there’s nothing more I can say,
You have to make the decision; you have to choose your own way.
Perhaps I’ve not been persuasive, perhaps you don’t understand;
I beg you to look to the Saviour, to put your life in His hand.
Then, only then, you’ll be happy, your values on earth turned around;
You may still be on terra firma, but by faith it’s on solid ground.
You’ll have a future in glory, the promise of God is secure;
You’ll reign with the Saviour forever, as long as time shall endure.
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 1995
Darkness draws across my mind like an evening shade.
All thoughts, plans and ideas fade into oblivion.
My eyelids, like fog enveloping a mountain, slowly close out the dying daylight.
The muscles relax, succumb to the unheard call of sleep.
No thoughts appear, no sounds I hear.
Time elapses as if non-existent, the world may turn on its continual circle, yet all has ceased to exist.
No cares, no concerns, no worries can penetrate the shield.
Oblivion, sweet oblivion. I caress you for your comfort.
For the removal of anxiety, for transforming utter chaos into subliminal peace.
For a span of time, like clouds crossing a windy sky that I am unable to account for.
For a total release, though it be but a brief few hours.
The mind is stilled like calm summer waters yet the heartbeat continues its unerring call like a soldier on sentry duty.
Sleep, sleep, sweet subliminal rest, carry me to the fountain of a new day.
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2009
It took God all of forty years to shape a grown man –
He did not compromise His work and altered not His plan.
The vessel that He planned to change had known wealth and power,
Sequestered in the wilderness, relied on God each hour.
The choices that were once his own no longer held their sway,
T’was God who held the upper hand and He would have His way.
He knew he’d come full circle, from poverty to fame,
From floating in a basket to having royal claim.
From a cradle in the water to a bed of feathery ease,
From the muddy Nile river to servants at his knees.
Then forced into the desert because of violent crime,
Alone, almost deserted, with nothing left but time.
Reduced to a mere mortal, no slaves at his command,
The big, blue sky above him, his feet on desert land.
With God his lone companion, with sheep that he must tend,
No luxuries that pampered, no boisterous, royal friends.
It was there God taught him patience, to hear His loving voice,
It was there God gave instructions, it was there he made his choice.
Much in fear and trepidation, now no longer filled with pride,
He accepted his assignment having God as his only guide.
Now his wandering days were over, and God’s people must be freed,
The Egyptians rule was finished – that’s what God had so decreed.
Though the obstacles were many, though the challenges severe,
Gentle faith brought strong persistence, helping to destroy the fear.
Eventually the foe was conquered, and the Jews were finally free,
Moses, Aaron and God’s power now could claim the victory.
True obedience is the answer, God will settle for no less,
True, the road may not be easy and the journey filled with stress.
Just remember, He’s the Victor, your endurance is the clue,
But, like Moses, learn your lesson, for God has a plan for you.
Dead Men Talking
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2008
Folk say that dead men cannot talk, their influence is erased;
The moment that their breathing ceased their ideals were replaced.
They’ve lost their power to refute; their voices have been stilled,
Before their bodies have grown cold or e’er their graves are filled.
But wait! Their lives are not snuffed out, their impact carries on,
Men of stature, men of faith, still serve although they’re gone.
You may not see them physically or hear their human voice,
You may not feel their warm embrace; in that you have no choice.
Yet memory recalls the voice, the smile, the love and the care,
The daily blessings that you shared as though they still were there.
Not that alone will carry on; there’s more within your grasp,
The way his life impacted you, the wisdom you can clasp.
Though things perhaps weren’t written down, they’re etched upon your heart,
And through the times of challenges new courage may impart.
The times when loneliness will strike, when tears will dim your view,
Your mem’ry brings to mind the fact, how much he meant to you.
When you recall the happy times, your childhood, then your youth,
Instructions for your growing years to help you walk in truth;
And then, it seemed so suddenly, his life was snatched away.
You still had much to learn from him, so much he had to say.
But we don’t choose the time or day when life comes to its close,
The breaking of life’s vital links are things that no one knows.
So make each day a special day, rejoice in what is given,
Take the moments as they come, let life be memory driven.
And, yes! The dead will still speak on, throughout this generation,
Perhaps through many yet to come, a voice to guide the nation.
It starts with one and branches out, the wisdom of the ages,
With dead men speaking to the hearts, like words from holy pages.
If in this life they’ve made their mark then death cannot affect that,
For God has wrought a perfect work, forever He’ll protect that.
The knowledge God imparts to man has always been effective,
Though man may pick and choose his way and try to be selective.
God’s wisdom, in the end, wins out by mouth or what is written,
He holds the future in His hands, His truth cannot be smitten.
Take heed, beware, though time moves on, the past, if good, can guide you,
Allow it to fulfill its course, let history walk beside you.
God Talks To Miriam
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2006
God says, “Do not criticize the one I choose to lead,
I have a purpose for my choice, and you do well to heed.
If I discover gracious traits in one who serves me well,
You would be wise to hear his thoughts and on his wisdom dwell.
You may not like the one I choose; he might disrupt your plan;
Your conscience might be pricked because I chose this holy man.
You may be thinking you deserve the honour I direct,
But you will never qualify until you draw respect.
When you can shed your sinful pride and humbly let Me guide,
When you don’t need the praise of men and let My will abide,
When jealousy does not consume your motive to be known,
When you are willing to submit to ways which I have shown.
When you receive the praise of men and bring that praise to Me,
When you allow My ways as yours, when godliness I see,
When self is finally put aside and service is delight,
Your heart is set on doing good and self has no more fight.
Then I can say, “You are My choice; your life will bring Me joy,
Your selfish spirit is controlled and you’re in My employ,”
I waited long for you to feel a kinship with My will,
And you have grown through your trials, your heart knows, “PEACE, BE STILL!”
Together we can do the work of service to mankind,
I’ll guide you in your daily work and thus deep joy you’ll find.”
Tell The Truth
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2003
Lord, I don’t feel like praying, I’m too far removed from Your side;
Life is too much of a burden, I’m always fighting the tide.
My world is full of enticements, I struggle to walk a straight line,
I’m keeping my head above water, but sin is so hard to define.
What I might think good is a hindrance to those not acquainted with grace.
I’m keeping Your love in perspective; in reality, seeking Your face.
But others are causing distractions, though I render my service to You,
They judge my ways and my motives, yet my goal is to only be true.
When I tell the lost of the Saviour, I tell them the truth of Your Word,
I try not to sound too aggressive, yet by all means, the truth must be heard.
Yet some would say, “Tell them God loves them, go easy, don’t tell them of hell,
Show them the mild, gentle Jesus, and someday all will be well.”
But God, You have told us in Scripture to warn men of doom up ahead,
And, even if they fail to listen, regardless, the truth must be said.
You talk more of hell than of heaven, Your warnings are clear and precise,
You’ve given man time for repentance, this life will not roll around twice.
Now is the time for salvation, who knows what tomorrow may bring;
Life is as brief as a whisper, and death has a powerful sting.
My problem, dear Lord, is rejection, because I refuse to be swayed;
Folks feel I’m far too outspoken, but Lord, You know how I have prayed.
That always I would be faithful, and folks would see Jesus in me,
And not turn their backs to the gospel, for that alone sets man free.
Sometimes I just want to forget them, just let them go their own way,
Not carry the grief of their future; sometime I don’t want to pray.
I hate being scorned, snubbed, rejected; I hate being told, “Let us be!”
I’d like to give into temptation: “Go ahead, try to set yourself free!”
But then I look at the Saviour, the grief and the burdens He bore–
He didn’t give into temptation, and oh, it cost Him far more!
Forgive me, Lord, for my weakness, for seeking approval of man,
Grant me the strength to go forward, grant me the wisdom to stand.
One day I’ll meet You in glory; right now, I must work here on earth,
Help me to always be faithful, to spread the news of Your birth.
Man can then make his decision, to God or to Satan they’ll bow,
But I’ll have accomplished Your mission, “Tell them the truth, tell it now!”
Poet: Greta Zwaan, © 2010
He roamed the towns, the country, He walked where’re He went,
He looked like He was searching, a lost and lonely gent.
He’d stop along the roadside, He’d greet all as a friend,
And those He thought looked needy, a helping hand He’d lend.
He did not have employment, so could not own a place,
He had no claim to money – it all seemed a disgrace.
He’s young, He seems quite healthy. Should He get charity?
Should those of us as workers let Him get off scot-free?
If He wants independence and won’t work for His bread,
He’ll reap the consequences when all is done and said.
Sometimes there’s others with Him, a ragged bunch of men,
A motley crew of humans, I wonder where they’ve been.
It makes me feel quite leery, are they bent on some plan?
They sit in groups discussing and listening to that man.
How come He draws attention? Why has He such appeal?
His dress is non-descriptive and yet He talks with zeal.
I think I should get closer and hear what’s being said,
If I don’t like His topic I’ll sneak away instead.
It does seem interesting, I think I just might stay,
I can’t discern His subject; He speaks of faraway.
A place where all is glorious, no crime no pain, no sin,
I look at Him and wonder, “Where has this guy been?”
No place on earth can offer a peace that’s that secure,
Where nothing wicked happens, no hardships to endure.
Yet, funny, I believe Him, His eyes shine clear and bright,
His countenance inviting, He puts all fear to flight.
When He invites compliance to walk the golden road,
He promises to carry my far too heavy load.
Enchanted, I accept Him; too long I’ve walked alone,
This powerful invitation clears my way to home.
Yes, HOME, with Christ in glory! to walk the streets of gold,
Rejoicing with My Saviour! The half has not been told!
I Shall Not Doubt
Poet: David V. Bush
Though black-winged clouds of sorrow pour
Their torrents on my head,
And drear and lone I sip my cup
Of anguish, care, and dread;
Though storms malignant beat around
In ceaseless mystery,
I shall not doubt God’s plan for all,
Or His great care for me.
I shall not doubt, though wind and snow
Convulse my troubled life;
Though all my earthly goods be lost
Amid the endless strife.
Though fortune flee and friends forsake.
And lonely grief be mine,
I still shall praise God’s mighty plan,
And own His care divine.
Why should I doubt God’s power and love
Because to my small brain
He does not show each hidden cause,
And every act explain?
A scheme so vast this brain of mine
Could never understand;
So I am wisest when I trust,
And take His leading hand.
I place my trust in His good will,
And wisdom limitless;
And though I cannot see today,
In confidence progress.
I know that of His boundless sphere
I am a helpless mite,
And that His sure omnipotence
Will some day bring the right.
And so though chaos seem to reign.
And black disasters blind,
And every dream dissolve in tears,
I shall not change my mind.
Though agony assail my soul
And tempt me to despair,
I shall not doubt my Father’s love,
Or question His good care.
Read More: God Has A Plan Poems